Laugh at the Face of Danger
by G.I.U.L.I.O
Summary: The RED team becomes lost in the middle of Nowhere and comes across a seemingly quaint farm. When they go inside in the hopes for some supplies, they become entangled in the adventure of their lives!
1. A Cry for Help

"Yer lost, admit it."

""I'm telling you Engy, this is a fake map planted by a damn dirty BLU Spy!"

The Engineer would have slapped his forehead in annoyance were he not driving. The Texan had been driving a RED standard-issue truck for well over five hundred miles North from the Grand Canyon so as to arrive to Alaska as part of a team transfer. That's what the map navigator thought at least.

"We're not even following North Solly," the Texan stated in an annoyed tone, "we've been goin' East fer at least sum hundred miles or so."

The 'map consultant' was sitting next to him, checking a large map of the US, shaking his head at the persistant Engineer. The Soldier, the Engineer thought, was easily the only American who didn't know the geography of his own country.

"Are you kidding? Didn't you know that if the sun rises in front of you means that you're heading North?"

The Texan gave a hard look at his companion. "Sun dawns East pardner."

The Soldier went quiet for a moment, looking at the Engineer, then to the Sun dawning in front of them, then to the map and then back to his companion. "Damn," he finally admitted "I hate it when you prove me wrong."

With a groan, the Engineer brought the truck to a stop. Suddenly voices rose up from behind the truck.

"Yo, why we stoppin' now?" asked the young Bostonian, "we're in da middle of frickin' nowhere."

Another vehicle – a camper van – came up behind the truck and stopped as well. From it came out the Australian Sniper and the German Medic and the former .

"Did ya wankers finally figure out that we were goin' East fer the la-"

"What? East?" the big Heavy behind the pickup truck boomed, "I was told Alaska is North!"

The Engineer brought up his hands to calm everyone down. "Alright, we git it; tha Soldier is now no longer in charge of tha map," he stated despite objections from the Soldier, "we jus' need tah find our bearings so we can git back on tha road."

The Scout sneered. "What bearings?" he asked mockingly, "dere's nuthin' but sand an' dirt fer miles."

The often-irritating Scout did provide a very well-founded point: barring the vehicles, themselves and some distant mountains, nothing was in the horizon. The road was the only interesting feature in this landscape since it broke the monotonous dirt-brown terrain.

"So now vat do vee do?" the Medic enquired, "We're running out of fuel und water und the last town we saw is _ein_ day avay."

"How 'bout those buildings up ahead?" the Sniper asked, pointing West.

Everyone turned to see structures which seemed little more than dark spots which at first gave the impression that they were part of the mountains.

"How do you do that?" asked a French voice emanating from the camper van; it was the ever-formal Spy.

"Ya'd be surprised what a few years in the Outback can do to ya."

"Alrighty then," the Engineer began, bringing his hands together, "how 'bout we head on there and ask fer sum supplies an' where the heck we are?"

With everyone in agreement the convoy got moving once more.

* * *

_My God the pain, it was unforgiving._

_It had probably no more than half-an-hour, but the pain made it seem as if it had been hours since _they_ came, took my loved ones and broke my leg. They mocked me, sneering and jeering at my crippled self, occasionally kicking at me as they had their sadistic fun._

_I felt so helpless, so useless, as if I were the smallest thing in the world. I couldn't do anything but watch Muriel and Eustace scream in horror as they were dragged away into the abyss from where those…_things_ came from._

_After having their perverted fun, they left me for dead, all alone, with no-one for miles. My mind repeatedly yelled at my body to make a move, to do something than just lie there. It was all in vain; all of my energy was gone and the pain sapped my muscles. I cursed myself at being so weak and my inability to do anything._

_Through my sobs I got the impression of hearing noises from outside. What did it matter now? Not even the best doctors could save me._

_I kept crying away, in pain, all alone._

* * *

The group stopped by the '_structures_' that the Sniper had spotted earlier: a barn, a two-story farmhouse with a bent antenna on top, a windmill by the latter, and an old dark teal pickup truck parked by the barn. It seemed to be a typical farm with its boundaries marked by an intermittent wooden fence.

"Whatta dump," the Scout said as he jumped off the RED truck.

The Engineer felt somewhat offended. "'S not a dump," he replied in a defensive tone, "'s jus' humble; reminds me of mah ol' property back at Bee Cave."

"Roight," the Sniper began, looking to the team, "who's gonna go in there an' talk to the farmers?"

"I'll go," the Engineer answered with no-one objecting.

The Spy, blowing out a puff of smoke, nodded, offering himself as a volunteer. The Engineer shot his offer down however. "No offense or nothin', but if yer not gonna take that there mask of yers off, they might think yer a thief."

The Frenchman opened his mouth to put together a rebuttal, but after a moment's thought, he nodded once more. "Very well," he answered.

"It has gotta be more interesting dan jus' standing out heah waitin'," the Bostonian declared, and before anyone could argue with his decision, he added, "an' no-one's gonna say anyding else."

"Alright," the Sniper interjected, "but yer leaving yer bats an' Scattergun in tha truck, an' I'll come along as well."

The Scout was visibly annoyed, but he agreed, "Fine."

Thus the trio walked to the front porch, and being the courteous one, the Texan knocked at the door.

"How do dey grow anyding heah?" the Bostonian asked, observing the cracked dirt, "dis soil's dryer dan a desert."

The Sniper shrugged; "Maybe they don't farm."

A few seconds passed without any response from inside the house. The Engineer knocked again, albeit more forcefully. When this also went unanswered the Texan tried looking inside through the door's net screen and asked in a loud voice, "anybody home?"

The inside of the house was silent. He could make out that the room opposite of them was a living room, with two chairs, a television set, but no people.

The Scout groaned. "Dun tell me dis house's abandoned."

"Can't be," the Sniper answered, "I can smell fresh coffee from inside."

Growing impatient, the young man from Boston pushed the Engineer aside – the Engineer letting out an audible 'hey!' – turned the door knob and opened the door.

"Ya can't jus' burst in somebody's home like that!" the Engineer warned the Scout, "if this were Texas, ya'd be shot on sight!"

The delinquent waved off that wise piece of advice as he seemed more interested in the room: as the Engineer saw, there was a bulky television with a rocking chair and sofa facing it, an oval green rug tied the three together. To the right was a set of stairs leading up, and further ahead was another room.

"Why does dis look more comfy dan our common room?" the Scout asked in a cynical tone, observing the television set with heightened curiosity, "sweet! Dey even have a frickin' TV!"

The Engineer, still worried about the possibility of being caught by the owners, asked out loud, cupping his mouth, "hello? Is there anyone in here?"

* * *

_This time I definitely heard a voice. Despite the basement door dampening the voice, I could hear a distinct Texan accent. Hearing this person's voice both raised my hopes and my fear. Was this friend or foe? Seeing as how the last Texan that I encountered was washed away in a waterfall in the desperate attempt to complete his perverted experiments on my loved ones, I had good reasons __to not give this Texan the benefit of the doubt_.

_I was, however, interested in the voice and I wanted to at least see who was up there in the living room. Driven by curiosity, I mustered what little strength I had and tried to drag myself towards the stairs leading up. _

_No good, the pain of my broken leg soared and I yelped in shock. I almost began to cry, but then stopped; realizing that whoever was up there might've heard me I kept quiet. I didn't want to be found._

_Yet._

* * *

The Sniper's head jerked towards a door beneath the stairs. "Did ya hear that?"

His companions turned to the Aussie. "Hear what?" the Engineer asked, "I didn't hear nothin'..."

"I thought I heard somethin' like a dog's cry or yappin'."

The Bostonian dismissed the Sniper. "Yer hearin' things," he said, waving a hand for emphasis, "yer paid fer seein', not hearin'."

The Sniper stared at the door for a few seconds, as if he was expecting that it would open suddenly when, finally, he turned his attention to the source of the coffee aroma which he had smelled earlier. He found himself in the kitchen, a wooden table in the middle of the room. On the table there were two plates with half-eaten eggs and bacon, two cups of coffee and a newspaper folded hurriedly.

Whoever was eating here left in a hurry the Sniper realized.

He was tempted to have a sip from one of the cups or eat some of the left-over food but instead limited himself to take a look at the newspaper. There were no particular headlines that jumped out to him, no pictures describing any of the articles, this newspaper had nothing interesting.

Then he looked at the name of the newspaper and, as he read it out loud, cocked an eyebrow: "_Nowhere News_?"

Taking a quick peek besides the paper's price and publication date, the Australian saw that it was sold in Nowhere, Kansas.

He couldn't keep it in. "We're in bloody Kansas? How did that idiot screw up this bloody much?"

The Scout heard him and answered casually, "dat's what we get fer lettin' Solly be our navigator." Entering the kitchen and seeing the Sniper holding the newspaper, he asked, "does it say anythin' 'bout baseball in da sport section?"

Ignoring the Scout, the Sniper asked a question of his own: "Ever heard of a town called 'Nowhere'?"

The Scout gave a surprised look. "Yer askin' me about geography? Dat's like askin' Solly a history question. Never heard of a 'Nowhere' though."

The Engineer joined his friends in the Kitchen. "I remember readin' somethin' 'bout a small town named 'Nowhere', but I reckoned it was jus' a joke." He looked at the plates left on the table and frowned: "Now who in tha right mind would leave perfectly good bacon on a plate tah git cold?"

Both of his friends ignored the irrelevant question. "So what do we do now?" the Scout asked, "we gonna check da rest of da house or go back to the othars?"

* * *

_As much as I was afraid to meet the strangers upstairs I realized that if they left I probably lose the only chance to not only save myself, but Eustace and Muriel._

_So, despite what all of my instincts told me, I yelled out for help. With any luck, they would be friendly enough to help me outside of the basement._

_But knowing my luck, they'd just finish me off._

* * *

"You hear someone yellin'?" the Scout asked his companions.

"I hear _something_," the Australian responded, "sounds like it's comin' from downstairs."

"Is there even a downstairs?" the Engineer wondered.

Moving fast, the Sniper reached the door underneath the stairs leading upstairs and opened. There he saw a relatively dark hall with a set stairs leading to an even darker basement. Whatever had been making the noises had suddenly stopped. The Engineer came up from behind. "See anythin' Snipes?"

Pulling out his kukri from his sheath, the Sniper began his descent into the basement, wary of any possible threats down there.

That was when he saw the dog.


	2. A New Fellowship

_I should _not_ have called for help._

_Down the stairs came a rustic-looking man, wearing an outdoors vest over a red shirt as well as aviator glasses and a hat. He reminded me of an adventurer or explorer. Judging from his smell the man had not taken a shower in a long while and appeared so too, seeing his developing nine-o'-clock shadow across his jaw and mouth._

_What drew my attention however was the large machete that he was holding. Despite the darkness, it glimmered as it moved with its owner._

_The man's facade and weapon made me wish that I had listened to my intuition; he was definitely not one of the more sociable folk._

_I stood lying there, motionless, my gaze fixed on the man, his on me eyes wide open._

"See anythin' Snipes?"

_The spell broke as both the man and I snapped back to reality. Turning to face the Texan back upstairs, the man spoke in a distinct Australian accent: _"There's a dog here, seems injured an' scared to death."

_My hopes peaked; would these men actually help me out?_

_The man – '_Snipes_' as his companion called him – turned back to me, sheathing his machete and approached. He stopped and stood above me, silently observing. Snipes seemed all the more taller when he was next to me. _"Now l wondah what happened to ya," _he whispered to himself. Squatting down, he scrutinized both me and my injured leg._

_After a few seconds or so, the Australian yelled back to his companion. _"Tell Scout to get Doc an' his Medigun."

_A gun?_

_Uh-oh._

* * *

Waking up with a mild headache, the Demoman got up, rubbed gently his forehead and grabbed his unfinished bottle of moonshine by the bed. Just as he was about to have a healthy sip, he realized that the camper van wasn't moving. Concerned, he moved away from the Sniper's make-shift bed to see outside:

From what he could tell the team had stopped by a farmhouse literally in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but dirt surrounding the buildings and the trucks.

"Oi must still be asleep," he mumbled, disbelieving what he was seeing.

"Ah," a German voice rang out – the Medic – "you are finally avake."

The Scotsman scratched at his beard, realizing how badly he needed a shave, groaned. "How long hav' oi been sleepin'?"

"For nearly _zwölf Stunden_; twelve hours," the doctor answered, catching himself.

"Ruddy hell..."

"Vee haff stopped by zhis farm to ask for directions und supplies," the Medic explained, clearly seeing the Demoman's confusion evident in his expression, "zee Scout, Engineer und Sniper haff gone inside."

The Demoman decided to get out of the van to get a nice breath of fresh air, what with him being inside it almost non-stop for three days during the trip. As he stepped outside, his eye squinted as he saw the bright sun dawning in front of him. Other than the familiar vehicles and team members who were hanging about, waiting for news from the farm, the lanscape made the Scotsman feel slightly alienated.

The explosives expert took a long swig from the bottle of Scrumpy he held, wiped his mouth and let out a loud belch; Now he felt fully awake.

He let out a long sigh of satisfaction and looked at the farm with a curious eye. "How long 'ave they been in thar?"

As the Medic opened his mouth to answer the Scout came running out of the farm house. The Bostonian pointed to the German as he stopped to catch his breath: "Snipes needs ya tah get yer Medigun, think he found someone."

"Vhat do you mean 'found someone'?" the Medic asked, somewhat confused, "who did he find?"

"I dunno," the Scout answered impatiently, "it seemed like nobody was home but den we heard noises downstairs an' Snipes told me tah get you."

With that, the doctor hurried to procure his piece of equipment from the van. While he was preoccupied the Heavy approached the Scout. "Can we go to house?"

He shrugged in response. "I dun see why not, we're healin' whoever is der, so..."

When the Medic was ready the team entered the farmhouse.

* * *

"Come take a look at this Truckie."

The Texan walked down the stairs and stopped by the Sniper, as he turned to look at what the Sniper's gaze was fixed at.

"Well blow me down," he exclaimed, "what in tarnations happened tah this poor lil' feller?"

He squatted down to get a closer look at the pink dog and let out a whistle of astonishment: its left hind leg was bleeding from a deep gash while its right leg was in a disturbingly awkward angle.

"Seems like it broke its leg," the Sniper observed, "ya think that the Medigun can help out?"

The Engineer had no intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the healing cannon and, as much as he hated to admit it, he probably knew as much as the others. All he could say with certainty was "I sure hope so fer tha dog."

The canine, despite the pain, seemed to be completely focused on the two men, watching with wide eyes and its ears shifting in their direction. "Poor guy," the Texan sighed, wishing that he could just tell the dog that they wanted to help him.

A series of voices and footsteps caught the attention of the two men and they turned to see their Medic and Scouts climbing down the stairs. "Who iz wounded?" the German inquired in a serious tone.

The Australian indicated to the dog and the doctor couldn't help but growl; "_Ein Hund? Sie rief mich an einen dummer Hund zu heilen? _"

Everyone but the Medic looked at each other in confusion. That made the German groan in frustration as he explained, "Vhy did you _dummkopfs_ call me for a dog? I am not _ein _veterinarian. I have no knowledge of animals!"

Both the Engineer looked to the Sniper for an answer (it was he who asked for the Medic anyways) but the Australian rubbed his arm seemingly unable to do otherwise. "Besides," the Medic continued, "vhy should I vaste my time with zhis dog? Shouldn't its owners take care of it?"

A series of high pitched moans rang in the room; the dog was crying.

* * *

_Why indeed? I am nothing but a waste of space and life. What have I done to help Muriel or Eustace? **Nothing**. I stood there to just be ravaged by those..._

_I cried. I couldn't help myself but the German reinforced my pessimism, why would anyone want to help me? I'm nothing._

_A myriad of memories flashed through my mind each with its spiteful emotions attached to them._

_"You're not perfect."_

_I wasn't strong..._

_"Pity, I'd thought you would've put up more of a fight."_

_I wasn't quick enough..._

_"Useless."_

_I'm..._

_"The stupid one."_

_I'm a..._

_"Stupid dog!"_

_I don't deserve my name. I'm just a..._

_"Stupid, useless dog!"_

A **COWARD!**

_I didn't care if those men would see me crying, nothing mattered anymore. All is lost an-_

_What? Everything unexpectedly seemed to grow brighter and the future suddenly didn't feel as gloomy and I could feel myself growing stronger by each passing moment. A warm feeling washed over me as a red aura engulfed me. The German, armed with his cannon-like apparatus, appeared as if he were 'shooting' the said aura at me and - amazingly- the pain subsided and ultimately vanished._

_This man, the same one who thought nothing but less of me..._

_He saved my life._

* * *

The good old doctor, biting his lip in uncertainty, had healed the pink dog within a few minutes. Soon enough the blood which was seeping from the dog's wound seemed to be sucked back into it as it closed as if by magic. The broken leg bent back to its original angle with a small _pop_. The dog wasn't exactly jumping about, tongue rolling out in happiness, though it did seem far more comfortable with the men. Both the Sniper and Engineer were both happy relieved seeing how smoothly the healing went and how the dog's demeanour had shifted.

The Medic however was somewhat disappointed: he wouldn't have minded having the opportunity to do some post-mortem exploratory surgery on the dog. Re-attaching his Medigun to his Über pack on his back, he coughed. "Vell, now that zhat is settled," he began, "how about finding zee dog's owners to ask zhem for supplies und direction?"

Both of his team mates nodded in agreement and the group went up the stairs to leave the basement. None of them had noticed however that the pink dog's attitude had changed back to a depressed one at the mention of its owners. In the end, it reluctantly followed suit and left the basement.

* * *

The rest of the RED team had been mostly nosing about in the house's kitchen and living room, some more interested in the former than the latter. "Aw, sunova-" the Scout exclaimed, fidgeting with the television set's dials and controls. "I can't get anyding from dis piece o' crap. No sound, pictures, nudding." The Engineer was the first of those in the basement to enter the living room and was annoyed at the Bostonian's tampering. "Dun touch that! It's not yer's."

"Pschht, whatever," the Scout scoffed, suddenly finding the set uninteresting, "ain't getting any reception anyways."

The Soldier was musing over a few picture portraits on the wall on the sides of the stairs leading to the top floor, occassionally shaking his head in disapproval of the people depicted in them. "Goddamn maggots who - I bet - don't even know their way around a combine," he muttered to himself. He then turned to the new arrivals and demanded in a barking voice: "Well? Where's the little mama's boy who couldn't stand having a little scrape to his knee?"

As if to answer the Soldier the pink dog had appeared from the stairs. The Soldier froze and gazed at it. The Medic smirked. "Here is zee 'little mama's boy'."

Once again frightened, the dog stood still, staring back at the helmet-clad army man. For a moment there was an awkward silence between the the two as their gaze was unbroken. Then something strange happened:

The Soldier shrieked in fear and scrambled to get as far away as he could from the puny canine. All in the room, including the dog, were completely stunned at this turn of events. The American stumbled on the lamp, falling over with it. His helmet now tilted back, the Soldier's eyes were exposed and they revealed the terror that he was experiencing.

"What..." the Soldier began, his voice unusually soft and wavering, "is that _thing_ doing here?" pointing at the dog.

The Sniper, Engineer and Medic exchanged stupefied looks, trying to see if anyone of them had an explanation or response fitting of this situation. Only the young Scout was able to quickly break the ice. "Oh, _dis_ oughta be good..." he said cross-armed, a mischevious smile creeping up to his cheeks.


	3. A Painful Memory

_A body fell after a loud _crack_ at a barnhouse. The victim was a _Werhmacht_ NCO caught by suprised, his neck snapped at a deathly angle. Above him stood the young American soldier sporting a sadistic grin. "_Ich bin_ I just killed you, ya damn kraut!" he said with a child-like glee._

_While the soldier had an American flag (crudely) patched unto his shoulders, his uniform was a jumbled mess of various grey, black and camo patches salvaged from dead German soldiers and officers of various different units and battalions, giving him a grizzled and wild-like appearance. The man's SS helmet - his little memento from a large German - was comically too large for him, covering over his eyes._

_He searched the dead NCO and grabbed the man's Mp40 and Luger. The American had heard that the Luger was truly a worthy prize to obtain for Allied units, though anyone found with such a weapon when the Germans captured them, they would be shot on sight. As if those blasted Nazis would ever make _this_ man into a POW._

_Laughter and the metal chirping of utensils hitting on plates resounded from the barnhouse: _the rest of the patrol is inside_, he realized. The soldier wondered what his next move would be, guns blazing or something more subtle?_

_Then a query from inside caught the American's attention. "_Feldwebel! Wollen sie eine Kleinigkeit?_" Some more laughter. From his basic understanding one of the men inside was calling out for the dead sergeant. The American responded in his best German, "_Nein. Danka ankommt._"_

_The laughing and tinkering noises inside stopped suddenly and the air suddenly grew deadpan._ Shit_, the soldier cursed at himself; his American twang had revealed him to the German soldiers inside and they knew that it hadn't been their sergeant responding._

_He decided that discretion was the better value of honour and bolted for some bushes a few yards by the side of the barn. He turned towards the barn door, his sub-machine gun poised and ready. Soon there were three soldiers who exited the barn with their own K98 bolt-action rifles out. They quickly spotted the dead NCO and while one kneeled down by the body to see what had happened, the other two kept a watchful eye for the intruder. _Now or never,_ the American told himself, and pulled the trigger._

_The German sub-machine gun's distinct sound ripped through the night's air along with a rifle shot as the two men guarding were struck. The third rolled over and ran for cover, bullets spraying all over him. Over the gunfire the American could hear a distinctly surprised curse from the panicking German: "_Scheiße!_"_

_Just before the American's clip ran out, he hit the German's leg and with another loud curse he fell. Quick on his feet, he went over to the struggling soldier and pulled out his Luger. The German's face revealed pain, shock and horror. "_Nein..._" he pleaded, tears rolling over his face. The American gritted his teeth in revulsion. "Disgusting. And people say that the German soldier is the best warrior in the world. Hah!" he spat as he cocked his pistol. The German closed his eyes, awaiting the worst and the American took aim._

_Then the soldier noticed distant sounds rapidly approaching. Dogs. "Goddamit! Another patrol!" he exclaimed, pistol whipping the downed German to keep him quiet. He would not dare give himself away any more with another shot, opting for the less deadly, if effective alternative. Wishing that he had the time to grab a rifle from one of the dead Germans along with some ammunition, he ran for the woods as quickly as he could._

_The American scrambled to get as far away from the dogs whose barks he swore were growing louder and closer. He kept running, panting for precious air to fuel his speed, genuinely afraid as to what would happened were he to stop. The dogs were now even closer; the slobbering sounds and growls quickly becoming apparent. He risked a peek behind his shoulders and spotted them:_

_German Shepherds, of the larger and more agressive variety. Two of them. Their teeth were bared and they appeared as sleek forms swimming through the forest at incredible speeds, soon able to catch up to the young man._

_He had very few options left. Could he stop and shoot them with his pistol - an feat which he was not certain to pull off with the dogs' agility - risking a tackle by one were he to miss? He decided to climb instead. He quickly grabbed on a tree branch and pulled himself off from the ground. Just as he thought he was able to escape, the branch gave way and he came crashing down. Grunting in pain, the soldier pulled out his Luger and aimed for the fast-approaching German Shepherds. Squeezing off a few rounds, he somehow managed to hit one. A painful yelp escaped the dog as it tumbled and fell over dead. The soldier then pointed his pistol to the second and shot again. _

_This time he missed._

_An incredible force clamped down on the man's right arm, tearing into his mangled uniform and skin, blood seeping out. He yelled in pain, dropping his Luger, and attempted to pull his arm away, only making the pain and his wounds worse. The Shepherd had no intention to let go and continued to bite down on the man's arm with its iron-like jaws. Screaming, he began to beat on the dog's head with his free hand, bashing on it with all of his force in the hopes to get the damned beast off. The canine responded by biting at the American's face at neck, kept barely at bay._

_The soldier was desperate: his left hand and arm kept the dog from tearing up his face and the searing pain from his right arm did little to help. Just when the Shepherd was about to overpower him, he kicked the dog back and reached for the dropped Luger with his left. The dog was once again back on all fours and about to jump at the American when he pulled the trigger._

_This time he didn't miss._

_He sat at the base of the tree panting, somewhat incredulous as to what had just transpired. He looked into the dog's eyes and saw something familiar: horror, like he did with the German soldier before. The soldier whimpered softly and got himself up on his feet. He assessed the bite on his arm and realized that it was bleeding profusely. Never before did the young American see his blood with his very eyes, and he was terrified by the sight of it. He went through the war convinced that he was invulnerable, that nothing and none could touch him. That dog had done more damage than any German soldier had combined, shattering the man's belief. _

_He ripped a piece off from his clothes to make an impromptu bandage on his mangled arm. The blood flow had stemmed, but it hurt like hell._

_Soon enough he could hear Germans shouting and yelling. They were still looking for him he realized._

_Exhausted, in pain, and shaken, the American forced himself to keep moving, away from the woods, away from the Germans, away from the dogs._

_Those horrid, _horrid dogs!_  
_


End file.
